


Boys will be boys

by parsleylion



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Bank Robbers, Crime AU, M/M, cross dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsleylion/pseuds/parsleylion
Summary: I look at you and I can hardly believe my eyes. Jaw dropping gorgeous is what you’ve always been but fuck today; right here and now, you look insatiable. I want to reach out and touch you, just push that wave of hair that’s fallen in front of your eyes and hell, fuck you senseless in the back of this car but, ouch, wait. Now’s not the time or the place. We have a bank to rob and you’re staring at me with a look of impatience...





	Boys will be boys

I look at you and I can hardly believe my eyes. Jaw dropping gorgeous is what you’ve always been but  _fuck,_  today; right here and now, you look insatiable. I want to reach out and touch you, just push that wave of hair that’s fallen in front of your eyes and hell, fuck you senseless in the back of this car but, ouch, wait. Now’s not the time or the place. We have a bank to rob and you’re staring at me with a look of impatience.

  
  


“Will you start the car already Chester?”

  
  


“Hell, you’re gonna need to work on that voice Mike,” I smirk, “It’s way too deep and husky.”

  
  


You shake your head with an exasperated smile and still I stare, my eyes now on those full lips which are tinted maroon and there’s some cheesy line that catapults from the back of my mind about wanting to have been that lipstick that you applied liberally before you got in the car. It’s the rational part of my brain that stops those words from tumbling from my lips (that and the fact that you look like you might smack me) and I’m all ready to start the engine when you jab me in my stomach.

  
  


“Don’t think that I don’t expect extra pleasantries from you for doing this,” You tut, though seriously, I can see the glint behind your eyes that tells me you’re more than enjoying this.

  
  


“Get over it Mike,” I chuckle, pulling on my seatbelt, “I’ve been worse remember? The clown? The monkey? What about the freaking Aardvark?”

  
  


“You made a cute Aardvark,” You muse before turning on your stony face once more.

  
  


“Yeah?” I giggle, starting up the engine, “And you make a fucking  _hot_  lady.”

  
  


I don’t give you time to reply because we’re pulling out onto the highway in a stolen black Mustang and I’m switching the radio on as we pick up speed. You’re smiling though, I can tell that much because hell with you sitting there dressed as a burlesque dancer, I can hardly keep my eyes on the road, can I?

  
  


Once or twice I slide my eyes over in your direction. You’ve gone quiet now. It’s always like this before a job. The first time I thought it was you getting cold feet but as the months have passed, I’ve come to learn that it’s just your way of preparing. Calm is the new anger, you once told me. I just smiled and nodded feeling bemused and you kicked me in the shins told me that if you’re not calm, cool and collected on the inside then the moment you step through those bank doors no one is gonna move or do what the hell you say. It’s true though. At first I didn’t get all that inner peace crap you used to sprout off on me but then I began to realise it meant a lot to you and in time I started to like the way you thought and your little pearls of wisdom started to make so much sense. But put me where you’re sitting right now and I’d be bouncing in my seat, turning the volume up on the radio and singing along, no doubt out of tune.

  
  


You smile at me and my eyes are quick to flicker back to the road where they’re supposed to be. I dig around in the glove compartment and pull out the directions that Brad, the mastermind behind all this, jotted down for us the week before. Happy that we’re heading in the right direction I pick up speed, easing back in my seat and thinking how nice a little Mustang would be to own.

  
  


We’ve been robbing banks for what, seven months? I’m not sure because there’s a phrase that says ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ and I guess that for most people the idea of walking into a bank, threatening the staff with a sawn off shotgun and getting them to empty money into bags isn’t the definition of fun but hey, each to their own right? Brad Delson is the guy who got us into this. Eight months ago you were living on the streets and I was working at a carwash, kipping on friends floors at night and Brad came rolling in one day with his flashy BMW. This was nothing out of the ordinary because Brad always stopped by on Fridays and tipped me a couple of twenties after I’d cleaned his car but this time he had you in the back seat, black and blue and covered in blood.

  
  


“You need to be in the other lane Chaz.”

  
  


I glance across at you momentarily but you’re gazing out of the window, eyes trained on the sparse desert land that we’re currently speeding across. Checking my mirror, I let a truck zoom past before switching lanes, my grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly as we get nearer to our destination; a small town unsuspecting that you are about to take in the region of fifty thousand dollars from its local bank. All in a days work for us though. I talk like I have no conscience; believe me I do but maybe my loyalties and boundaries lie in other places? I think they do. I’m not a completely bad person…

  
  


Like when we first met. You were in a state of unconsciousness and Brad said he’d pay me extra if I were to take you home that night, fix you up and keep an eye on you. Brad called it a favour for a loyal customer and he’d driven off before I even had chance to protest and the rest they say is history because when I got you back to my friend Joe’s place and got you cleaned up, something clicked and from there grew something between us; something that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain to anyone. It’s like we’re two peas from the same pod and sometimes I hate to think of life without you. Not that it’s ever going to happen, I know that deep down. You’re fiddling with your fishnet stockings now; the ones you pouted toward when I passed them to you earlier this morning. You’re so not comfortable I can tell that but I somehow managed to persuade you to don the suspenders, the black patent platform boots, the black hot pants and the black corset. The make up and wig were a struggle but hell, you could hardly complain once I’d pinned you down to the motel bed and was smothering your face in foundation and drawing kohl along your eyelids.

  
  


It was Brad’s idea to dress up. After he left you with me he came by the carwash a few weeks later where I’d found you a job and was slowly, ever so slowly starting to get to know the fragmented details of your shady life. He took one look at us, told us we made a great team and later that week we met for coffee and he let us in on his lifestyle. Suddenly it became apparent why Brad Delson had the expensive car, the flashy suits and the confident smiles; he was only a fucking professional criminal. We left the carwash and two weeks later we’d done our first job; and from then on he welcomed us to his team and we became in his words ‘two of the most angelic looking deviants’. From then on it’s been the two of us zigzagging across the US in stolen cars, stepping inside various banks in various dress (because it surprisingly doesn’t scream stick up when you stroll in as a clown) and helping ourselves to copious amounts of dollars. The disguises started as a bit of a joke. Brad Delson has a vendetta against a chain of banks ever since his Father was shot during a feud that had broken out between two rival managers. The first few times we pulled on the usual tights over our heads but as Brad told us later with a smug smile, he wanted to really take the piss - push the boundaries and see how much fun we could have with this adventure. So when I walked into a quiet, air conditioned bank one evening in February dressed as a Krusty The Clown, it threw everyone for they weren’t exactly expecting a character from The Simpsons - more an anger ridden teen with blood on his hands. It caught them off guard and somehow that makes us feel that more satisfied. The joke’s on them and shared fifty-fifty with the mastermind that is Brad Delson - we have a pile of money that’s built up and waiting for us back in an underground safe in the grounds of his Californian mansion.

  
  


I keep telling myself this is the last job but I think we’re addicted to the thrill. For some people it’s alcohol and the way that bittersweet liquid slides down your throat and hits the spot. For others it’s drugs and the overwhelming chemical reactions that buzz and hiss within your system as you take your first hit. For you and me it’s the rush of adrenaline; that euphoric sensation flowing within that you get when you pull something off that’s as high risk as this life. The thing is, this  _is_  the last job. Obviously the fuzz are on our case; newspapers starting to print articles on page fifteen about the heartless gang who are stealing the government’s money and causing the Police quite a problem. And it’s not like this was meant to last forever anyways. Just enough money to get us out of this country, to get us overseas and start a life together. Never thought I’d be saying those words. I was always a man for myself, destined to be a loner until I met you. And now look at me, driving across the country with a man I fucking adore who’s currently looking more Dita Von Teese than Mike Shinoda. Still damn hot, mind.

  
  


“Keep your eyes on the road Chaz…”

  
  


My gaze had wondered to you and I’m quick to snap my eyes back to the road in front, now sparse of traffic as we reach the other side of the desert and join the heaving trucks and Jeeps. Out of the corner of my eye I can see you biting your polished nails and fiddling with your stockings again. I slide my right hand across to your knee and gently squeeze it. Seconds later your fingertips are tracing over the back of my hand and quick as I know it we’re pulling into Jocelyn Street and I can see our designated local bank in the distance. It’s a regular red brick building, cash point built into the wall outside and one small glass door just to the left of it. The street is quiet and you sit upright, eyes scanning our surroundings. There’s a couple of jocks larking about in front of a boarded up general store and a couple of ladies exiting the salon next door. They smooth down their smocks and scowl in distain at the two men who leer and make suggestive remarks in a very Neanderthal manner.

  
  


“You ready?” I murmur, your hand now gone and lowering the volume on the radio.

  
  


“Yep.”

  
  


I glance across, slowing down and realising that this is the last time we’re going to be in this situation. It’s a strange feeling, one that covers me in nervous vibes yet relief at the same time. It’s hard to describe but there’s not really all that much time to mull it over because I’m pulling up outside a brothel named ‘Ethel’s Thrills’ and you’re patting the inside of your suspenders where your gun is concealed. The next few moments are a blur as you lean over and peck me on the cheek before pushing open the door and then you’re gone. The car rattles as you slam the door and you’re crossing the road, dressed to kill. I watch your back as you shimmy on over the street, tall platform boots padding onto the pavement, my eyes mesmerised by the way your hips work. And then you’re pushing the door of the bank open and I have nothing to do but sit tight and wait. A couple of drag queens exit the brothel and I pull my shades down over my eyes watching as they parade down the road very much the way you just did. It now makes complete sense as to why Brad suggested the get up he did; whores and transvestites are seeping from every inch of this street and as I glance around, my fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel, I notice a strip joint a few doors down from the bank and opposite that a shady sex store named ‘etc’ with blacked out windows and a few feather boas tied suggestively around the doorframe. Fishing Brad’s map out of the glove compartment, I place it on the dashboard and in an instant the door to the bank is opening. Hand wrapped around the gear stick, I put my foot down just in time to see you racing out; green bag swinging from your clutch. We meet halfway, the door already open for you as I screech across the road and you jump in, money bag slung to the back seat, door slammed shut as you yell ‘FUCK’ and then we’re gone, kicking up dust as I speed the car down the street, pulling out onto the highway and exceeding all speed limits.

  
  


My heart is racing and I turn the volume dial back up, let the music drown out the sound of my thumping chest. Apartment blocks; houses; fields; farmyards; desert land; it all flies past our windows and I thank God for lunch hours and quiet country roads. Our destination is one of Brad’s mansions in the hills with rolling green grass and orchards hiding it away from prying eyes. About halfway we get out and switch cars in a deserted parking lot of a disused gas station. It’s a blacked out BMW belonging to Brad and I swiftly unlock the doors and we jump inside. It smells of brand new leather and you flick the AC on as I start the engine. My heart rate seems to have returned to normal as we turn off a quiet, winding country road and the security guard who is waiting for our arrival unlocks the grand iron gates before us. It’s here that we get out and the guard peels off the fake licence plates and you slip them into the money bag. Assured that we’ve not been followed, the guard hops in the car and is speeding off down the lane, leaving us staring up at the unfamiliar mansion for probably the first and last time.

  
  


“Shit,” You utter, “That was some fucking ride.”

  
  


“Yeah,” I murmur, “Come on, Brad will be waiting,” I smile, nudging you.

  
  


You nod and slip through the gates, I follow a little behind making sure to lock the gates behind me and then savouring the view and your catwalk model walk. My eyes can’t seem to tear themselves away from your pert ass and toned legs and even the glare you give me when you’ve realised why I’m walking two yards behind you turns me on. You come to a stop, turn and tut at me, your arms crossed over your chest.

  
  


“Don’t do that!” I grin, catching up with you, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry! You just look like such a fucking diva and…”

  
  


“I just want to get inside and get out of these clothes,” You whisper, leaning close to me and almost, but not quite, brushing your lips against mine. Tease.

  
  


“Okay,” I nod, “That sounds like a good idea to me…”

  
  


You shake your head, smiling all the while and we link arms, walking up the gravel lined pathway towards the double oak doors.

  
  


Brad is waiting for us in his study, black Gucci suit and polished shoes making him seem like graceful business man rather than notorious gang leader. His maid closes the door behind us and he motions for us to sit down as he pours out some wine and slides two of the glasses across the tables.

  
  


“No hitches then boys?”

  
  


“None,” You smile, “There was one cashier inside. He barely flinched. Just passed me the money over and had fainted by the time I was running out.”

  
  


“Brilliant,” Brad grins, taking a sip from his glass, “And no one followed you?”

  
  


“Nope,” I shake my head, “The roads were quiet as anything.”

  
  


“Well,” Brad smiles, “I’m going to miss working with you.”

  
  


We share a knowing glance.

  
  


“Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk you out of quitting. It’s a wise thing to do, before you get into deep like I am,” he pauses, lights a cigar and rummages in one of his desk drawers for a few seconds before pulling out a large manila envelope and sliding it across the table.

  
  


“Your passports,” he tells us, “Are in here. How much did you collect today Michael?”

  
  


You roll the bag over to him and he is quick to empty it out onto the mahogany surface. Tossing the license plates to one side he starts counting out the stacks of bound notes until they pile up so high that I have to sit up in my chair to see him.

  
  


“Fuck, you pulled out all the stops today,” he grins and is suddenly opening the screen of his laptop, “Come round here you two.”

  
  


We get up and pace around to the other side of the desk, leaning over his shoulders to watch the screen before us.

  
  


“I’ve set up four accounts for you. Each one has twenty thousand in it. Then there’s your joint account which will hold this little lot,” he pauses, typing frantically at the keyboard for a few minutes, “There. Ten thousand dollars.”

  
  


“Fuck me,” I can’t help but utter as my eyes watch the money being piled into our hands via the digits on the sparkling screen before us, “Wait a minute,” I frown, “That says Carlos Benitez and Mathieu Sharona?”

  
  


“Yup,” Brad nods, “Look at your passports.”

  
  


I lean across the desk and pull them out from the confines of the brown envelope. Opening them up, I am met with our hazy faces matched with the two unfamiliar names and I frown furthermore as you lean over my shoulder and scan the details.

  
  


“It’s a necessity boys,” Brad’s voice tears my eyes away from the passports, “New identities. Just so you can have your money without any hassles and stay in England. You’ve both got criminal records and if anyone wanted to, they could eventually link the pair of you back to me,” he pauses and opens up a new tab in firefox and swiftly types in a new address, followed by a series of passwords, codes and jargon that sends me a bit cross-eyed.

  
  


“Right, I’m in,” Brad smiles, “And as of now,” he pauses and hits the delete button, “The pair of you no longer exist…”

  
  


“What?” You exclaim.

  
  


“Wiped from the systems.”

  
  


“Fuck me,” I start to laugh, “You can do that? Just like that?”

  
  


Brad just smiles, “Hacking is my second love.”

  
  


“And your first?” You ask.

  
  


“You guys,” Brad grins and we all burst out laughing.

  
  


Several glasses of wine later and Brad is sending us up to our room, his eyes gleaming with sincerity as he tells us how much he’s enjoyed knowing us.

  
  


“Now go,” he grins, pushing us in the direction of the staircase, “Your car leaves at six am to take you to the airport. Tickets are in your bags which are packed and waiting for you in your room.”

  
  


I smile. You smile. Fuck me, I don’t remember ever being this happy.

  
  
  


+

  
  
  


I take a long, hot shower in the en suite and dry myself off on one of the ridiculously large and fluffy towels, wrapping it around my hips as I pad back into the bedroom where I left you staring out of the window and admiring the view. You were always a sucker for pretty scenery and the green trees and never ending hills seemed to have captivated your attentions.

  
  


I blink as I step inside the dimly lit bedroom. Candles are burning, giving the room a sudden ambience. Then there’s you lying on the bed, still as Miss Shinoda and  _fuck_  me, I have to hold onto the door handle that bit tighter as my jaw drops and my eyes take in the scene before me. The curtains are drawn and there’s a wisp of smoke floating through the air from one of the candles that’s burning on the nightstand and lying on the bed right next to that very nightstand has to be the most breath taking, beautiful being I ever laid eyes on. I seem to be stuck in a trance, mouth slightly open as I just stare and watch  _you_.

  
  


Suddenly you laugh, and that delicate noise brings me out of my trance like state. A sudden excitement creeps up inside me; about you and me and the future we’ve got together. I drop my towel to the floor and pad over to where you’re lying on the bed. I suddenly feel like this is cause for celebration and I’m crawling on top of you, greeted by your open arms which snake around my waist as I lean down and capture your lips with mine. We share long, slow kisses and my hands cup your face until they wonder up to the black, wavy wig and pull it off, throwing it down the side of the bed as our kisses deepen and your hold around me tightens.

  
  


That’s how it stays for a long time. Kissing and rolling around on crushed velvet sheets. My hands tangle in your short spikes of ebony hair and my tongue flicks against yours, emitting a purr as it glides across the steel bar that is threaded through your tongue. Our jaws finally tire of the endless movements and we pause momentarily, you beneath me as our foreheads rest together. Seconds later you’re pushing me up and are up on your knees in the middle of the bed. I flop down against a pile of pillows, hypnotised as you glide of the black hot pants and kick them to the floor. Then you’re straddling me and fuck, grinding against me in such a manner that I can’t help but tilt my head back and let out a moan. My hands find their way to the back of your corset and with a few moments of struggling they somehow are able to make fast work of the fastenings and I’m quick to glide down the eyelets and gently slide the garment away. You let out a deep breath that hits my earlobe before stretching out above me and sliding off of the bed, your hands on the suspenders. I sit up, my elbows supporting my body as you arch your back and your tan skin glimmers in the evening light. My eyes are drawn to your hip bones just as you start to shuffle the stockings down.

  
  


“No,” I utter and you pause, eyes catching mine, “Leave them on.”

  
  


“Leave them on?” You grin, “Okay. What about the boots?”

  
  


“Leave them on too,” I tell you firmly.

  
  


You slide your tongue out over your bottom lip and nod and I can’t help but see that glint in your eyes that turns me on even more, if possible.

  
  


“Come here,” I murmur, patting the bed beside me.

  
  


You slide back down next to me and it’s back to kissing and holding and rolling around until I feel like I’m going to fucking well explode. Just at that moment I’ve got you where I want you; straddled down against the bed sheets; my thighs either side of your hips; my hands pinning your arms above your head and that’s when you utter out the words I always love to hear tumbling from your lips.

  
  


“Fuck me damit…”

  
  


My lips smudge against yours and I’m still kissing you as I reach over and fumble through the cabinet beside the bed for some lube. My clammy hands slip around a tube and I pull it free, hastily unscrewing the cap and squeezing out copious amounts into the palms of my hands. I coat my erection, lips still locked with yours as my fingers gently ease inside of you. You break the kiss, head jerking away as you bite your bottom lip and I slow down my pace and watch the way you squirm beneath me. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you nod, looking ever so slightly delirious as I guide myself inside of you, overwhelmed by that sense of euphoria that never ceases to flow through my veins when we get this close.

  
  


“Fuck…”

  
  


I’m not sure if it’s you or me that utters that word or even if it’s the both of us. Its sentiment hangs in the air as your body adjusts and my hands slide around your hips when I push further in. I start off slow until you’re moaning and begging me to go deeper and then it’s fast and furious and our fingernails are tearing at each others backs, drawing blood and creating bruises. Then it’s slow and soft once more and our lips are grazing against each others necks and cheeks and foreheads until I don’t think either of us can take anymore.

  
  


“Are you…” I murmur.

  
  


You nod and your eyes lock with mine as I slam myself into you one final time and that wave of dizziness is boiling up and trickling inside you as I climax. I collapse against you as your orgasm rocks your tired body and your sticky seed spills out onto our stomachs. Shallow breaths escape me and when I finally open my eyes and raise myself up onto my elbows you’re smiling tiredly at me, eyes hazy and breathing haphazard. I glide my hand over the sticky mess of your face; smudged eyeliner and beads of sweat following the path my fingers take.

  
  


“I can’t believe we’ll be on the other side of the world tomorrow,” I murmur.

  
  


“Me neither. I can’t wait. We’re gonna be okay, aren’t we?” You ask.

  
  


“Of course we are,” I hush you, quickly sitting up and pinning your arms down once again, “Everything is going to be fine. I promise you.”

  
  


You smile and for a long time we just stay like that, gazing at one another until we’re dizzy and almost drunk on the glow that flows between us.

  
  


“Come on,” I murmur, “We should sleep. We’ve got to be awake early.”

  
  


“Sure,” You nod, a yawn escaping your mouth.

  
  


“It’s a shame we have to burn these y’know,” I sigh, nodding my head toward your ripped fishnets and the boots that you’ve started to unfasten.

  
  


“Maybe they’ve got some nice fetish shops in England?” You wink, “Only next time you’re the one who’s dressing up.”

  
  
  


**END.**


End file.
